Due Date, Schmue Date

Bridget's due date was this past Thursday. Or it was Saturday, depending on whom you ask. Originally, her due date was August 24, but after our first ultrasound, it became August 22.

Either way, one thing is for certain: It really doesn't matter.

As a first-timer to this pregnancy experience, I assumed that a due date was pretty concrete. If not etched in stone, it was at least written in permanent marker somewhere. Underlined. In all capital letters. But as it turns out, I was dead wrong. In fact, only about 5 percent of babies are born on their designated day.

This statistic stinks. And it stinks for three reasons:

1. Due dates are a big tease. Think about the last big thing for which you prepared. Maybe it was a speech or a presentation. Maybe it was a wedding, a birthday, or an anniversary. Perhaps it was a vacation. Whatever it was, you set a date, said thing occurred on that date, and then you moved on with your life. That's not so in baby world. August 22 (or August 24) came and went for us. We had marked the date on our calendars, made sure our hospital bag was packed, and had our hands on the doorknob. (I've even been working on my sprinting, just in case.) But the hours, minutes, and seconds slipped by. And we waited. How are you feeling now?, I asked. How about NOW?

2. I like deadlines. As a journalist by trade, I'm accustomed to looking at the clock. You need 400 words in 25 minutes? You got it. Need a quote by 2 PM? I'm your man. Not surprisingly, this thinking crept into my daily life and I have a great respect for time. If I'm supposed to be somewhere at 6 AM, you know damn well that I'm going to be there. My daughter? She'll come when she's good and ready, thank you very much.

3. Poor Bridget. Bridget is a champ. She's a great sport and a tough cookie. In other words, she's not one to complain. But good God. This poor thing has endured 40 weeks of back-breaking, ankle-swelling, acne-inducing pregnancy. When I ask her if she's comfortable on the couch, she contorts her body into a pretzel and sheepishly nods her head. And yes, I know that millions and millions of women have gone through pregnancy and given birth, but the experience is different when it's in your living room and it's your wife. Yes, she'll make it and yes, she's had a fairly easy pregnancy. But, again, good God.

So, what's next? Well, we wait. Eighty percent of women deliver between weeks 37 - 42, so there's a good chance we'll fall in there somewhere. After that, if everyone stays healthy and we're still watching the clock, they'll induce Bridget when she hits 42 weeks. That means, like it or not, our daughter will meet the world by September 6.

Until then, I'll be singing along with Tom Petty, one of the greatest songwriters of our time:

Every day you see one more card 
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart 
The waiting is the hardest part ...

A Letter to My Daughter Before She's Born

Bridget’s due date is August 22, which means our baby could arrive at any second. She could arrive before I finish this blog post. She could arrive now. Or now. But as it tends to go with first babies – and if she’s anything like her mother – she’ll be late. (Ohhhh! No, he didn’t …)

More than likely, our baby will arrive somewhere between weeks 40-41, which puts up somewhere around the end of August and maybe into the beginning of September. Or, again, it could be now.

As I was walking home from work the other day, it struck me that I’d probably never again feel the way I do right now. After you have a baby, they say, likely with good reason, it’s never the same. Pretty soon, I’ll have different priorities, understand what it really means to be tired, and know how to change a diaper.

So before that all happens, I want to write something to my daughter to explain how I feel:

Dear Baby, 

First off, sorry about the generic moniker. This isn’t a form letter, but you don’t really have a name yet (at least not one your mother and I are sharing with people), so I had to go with something generic. Also, I’m sorry about using the word “moniker.” You probably won’t know what that means for a while. It essentially means name. I’ll teach you lots of stuff like that in the next 10-15 years before you decide I’m uncool and that listening to your Dad is lame. 

This isn’t getting off to a great start, is it? 

As you can tell, I’m fairly nervous. You see, I’ve never had a daughter before. I’ve never had a son either. You’ll be our first child. By “our,” I mean me and your mother. Her name is Bridget. She’s 31. (I’m 33, in case you’re wondering.) I fell in love with her about three years before you joined our family. She’s pretty wonderful, as I imagine you know by now if you can read this. Even though you’re reading this several years after I write it, I promise you that I still love her a lot. In fact, I love her more every day – even during those rare times when she and I aren’t getting along. People don’t get along sometimes, but it doesn’t mean they aren’t in love. That isn’t to say that everyone who doesn’t get along with someone is in love with that person. I’m really confusing you, aren’t I? Don’t worry. I’ll get better at this parenting thing in the next few months. 

I wanted to give you a snapshot of what life was like before you came. As I said, your Mom and I met a few years ago at a friend’s birthday party. Not too long after, we started dating and fell in love. Then, we got married at this place called Cape Cod. It was gorgeous. In fact, it was probably the best day of our lives. We’ll show you pictures whenever you want. The year we got married, 2012, our friends joked that we went on a lot of honeymoons, which is basically a romantic vacation after you get married. And we did, sort of. We went to Ireland, France, and Mexico, thanks to a Christmas gift, work, and, well, a honeymoon. They were all wonderful trips and we were taking advantage of our time alone together. Your Mom and I are both lucky enough to be well educated and have good jobs. That way, we can buy you things. You’d be amazed at how much stuff you have already. You have lots of clothes and toys because people – your grandparents, our friends, and our co-workers – are excited that you’ll be here soon. (They aren’t as excited as we are, but they seem pretty excited.) 

In short, we’re lucky to have a pretty great life. We live in a really fun city called Cambridge and we can walk to anything we want, like restaurants and grocery stores and parks. And about a year after we got married, we decided we wanted to try and have a baby. (We’ll tell you how that works much, much later.) And, luckily, it took only six weeks before we learned you were already growing inside your Mom’s belly. Almost 10 months later, here we are. We’re waiting patiently for you to decide you’re ready to meet us. We’re expecting you to come any day now. 

And before we meet you and get to hold you for the first time, I just wanted to say three things: First, I’m really excited that you’re coming. I’ve never been this excited about anything in my life. No matter what I’m doing during the day, I think about how you’ll be here soon and how our lives will change. Second, I’m also really nervous. I hope you like me and I hope you don’t get too annoyed when I’m not good at something. I’ve never changed a diaper or held a baby for more than 15 minutes, so this is new territory for me. That brings me to number 3. Please know that I’m always trying my best. Whether I’m changing you into some new clothes that don't quite fit, putting your hair into a misshaped ponytail, or feeding you some disgusting food, I’m trying my best. I won’t always do everything the right way, but I promise I’ll always do everything I can to make you happy. 

I can’t wait for you to get here! 

Love, 
Your Dad

The Greatest Idea Ever: Baby@Gmail.com

My friend, Gordon, and I were riding back from a rec league basketball game a couple months ago. We chatted about the game, about how we used to be able to touch the rim, about the upcoming weekend, and about kids. (I’m not sure how smooth the transition to the final topic was.) Then, in only 13 words, he shared an idea that would change my world:

 “You should set up an email address for your baby before she’s born.”

Yes! So simple! So useful! So wonderful! Why hadn’t I thought of that? In the spirit of accurate reporting, Gordon’s brother shared the idea with him. He and his wife had set up an email for their first child before her birth. And the idea has been around for quite time. There’s this article from 2007. And this one about the percent of newborns with email address from 2010. (That number has probably tripled, at least, in the last three years, but I couldn’t find anything that said so.)

I suspect this warm and fuzzy Google ad from 2011 was probably what brought this baby email idea into the mainstream. (It’s well worth the 90 seconds if you’ve never seen it. I just watched it seven times. It’s amazing.) Taking it even a step further, this one dad captured one second of his son’s life for 365 days and turned it into a pretty creative (and popular) video.

So, this weekend, I am setting up an account for Baby Briddon. Yes, that means I’m revealing her name to the Internet before we reveal it to our families and friends, but oh well. I trust the Internet not to tell anyone because A) it doesn’t care and B) it’s not a person.

Some of you might have a question dancing around in your head: Why? I’m quite certain my mother does, if she’s reading this. She’s saying, “Oh, Michael. Why would you want to do that? Why would you want to set up an email address for a baby? She’s not going to be able to use it for years! You and your technology!”

Well, Mom, here are three reasons why:

1. I can send her emails about the day she is born, about the first time she meets her grandparents, about her first walk around the neighborhood, about her first smile, and about her favorite toy. I can send her pictures of her parents in Mexico (before she barged in!), of her favorite dress, of her chubby, little legs. I can send her videos of her first step, her first word, and her first birthday. I can send her so many wonderful things. 
2. You (and any other friends and family) can send her stuff, too. 
3. She’ll have this amazing history of her life that she’ll enjoy immensely when she’s old enough to read.

When I was old enough, I remember flipping through old, worn photo albums. I remember scanning through a baby book to see a certificate and a set of footprints. I loved those things because they helped define who I was and where I came from. Now, thanks to technology, I can create those memories in more creative ways. And so can my friends and family.

An email address may be a simple thing, but it’s a powerful connector. And, most importantly, it will put a smile on my daughter’s face someday.

Thanks, Gordon. I owe you one.

A Review of Five 'Dad' Books

I read a lot. I read even more than that when I'm trying to learn something new. Learning to be a dad, then, meant it was time to get elbow deep in some literature about fatherhood.

As you might imagine, there are some clunkers and all-stars out there.

In total, I've read five 'Dad' books in the past couple months (I just started number six) and I thought it was worth a few minutes to share what I've learned (or haven't learned) from them. It might save some of you dudes out there some time when you start preparing for your little one. Here's my list -- complete with a letter grade for comparison:

The Happiest Baby on the Block: This, according to many new moms and dads, is the bible of baby. In a nutshell, you learn about the 5 S's (swaddling, side/stomach position, shushing, swinging, sucking) that can soothe your baby. Because we're still a few weeks away from our due date, I'm not sure how useful this stuff is yet. But, from what I understand, this will be the greatest book I've ever read. (That's obviously an exaggeration, but if it will help quiet a screaming child, I imagine I'll singing its praises to anyone who will listen.) The book isn't winning any awards for writing, but it was presented in an accessible, how-to format. Grade: B with potential for an A+

Be Prepared: A Practical Handbook for New Dads: A friend of mine passed this on to me with some names of other Dads already scrawled inside. Nice, right? It makes you feel like you're part of this welcoming community. Thanks again, Jameson, for the wonderful gesture. (Is it getting dusty in here?) The good vibes continued when I opened the creative cover you see above. This book was simple, straightforward, sometimes funny, and chock full of creative ideas to get baby to eat, sleep, and explore the world. I plan on keeping it close by in the next 12 months. Then, of course, I'll pass it on to someone else. (Where is that damn dust coming from?!) Grade: A-

The New Father: A Dad's Guide to the First Year: After reading hours of Amazon reviews, this seemed to be the best Dad book on the market. My view, in five words: Helpful, but a little weird. This is your typical month-by-month guide filled with nuggets of wisdom and tips. I really enjoyed the section about the first three months (that's where my head is now) and I can see myself grabbing this again when I'm lost in month four. However, the section on placentas had me scratching my head for weeks: "Whatever you and your partner decide to do, it's probably best to keep [what you do with the placenta] a secret -- at least from the hospital staff. Some states try to regulate what you can do with a placenta and may even prohibit you from taking it home ..." Wait, what? People take it home? Maybe I'm showing my naivety here, but, again, what? Grade: B+

Dude, You're a Dad: How to Get [All of You] Through Your Baby's First Year: This arrived in my in-box the day of Bridget's baby shower, thanks to my incredibly thoughtful sister. It was such a wonderful surprise. The book, on the other hand, was a bit cheesy. The author actually used the line, "Denial isn't just a river in Africa." Come on. I did, however, learn that babies are born without kneecaps. How weird is that? Grade: C- (but the gesture from sister was an A+)

Lean In: Women, Work, and the Will to Lead: Obviously, this isn't a traditional baby book. Far from it. But it should be required reading for any Dad who is having (or has had) a daughter. Written by Facebook COO Sheryl Sandberg, this was a practical and often eye-opening read about women in the workplace. I didn't agree with all the advice (I think it's important to disengage from work), but Sandberg's success is clear and impressive. Her imagery of using a jungle gym instead of a career ladder is brilliant thinking. Surprisingly, this book may have been the best in terms of mental preparation. Grade: A

There are dozens more out there, but this list provided a pretty good starting place for me. Dads (or Moms), are there others you've read that have been influential in your parenting?

Why I'll Miss Being Pregnant

I have been pregnant for 255 days. I know, it feels like much longer to me, too. With about 25 days to go, I've officially hit that point in my pregnancy when people stop looking at me like I am just another pregnant woman, and start looking at me like I'm a liability. They stare at my huge belly with a mixture of discomfort and terror, worried, I think, that I'll give birth right in front of them. I'm hoping this does not happen.

I'll be the first to admit that I was ill-prepared for this pregnancy thing. While I've never questioned our timing on actually having a child, I didn't realize how difficult it would be for me to adjust to having my body taken over by the miracle of life. Hormones are a powerful thing, and I underestimated them. I'm sorry for that, hormones. It will not happen again.

In fact, it took me about 20 weeks to really come to terms with the fact that there was a baby growing inside of me and that I better get used to it. I complained about my bad mood. I complained about not feeling well. I complained about all the pounds I was gaining. But now, 255 days into this thing, I've realized that I'm going to actually really miss being pregnant. I was standing in the kitchen at work the other day pouring my decaf coffee, and it occurred to me that in about a month I would no longer be pregnant. And it made me sad. Why, you ask? Well here are 4 reasons:

1. People love the bump. I was not prepared for the amount of goodwill that my massive belly would generate. I've gotten more smiles these past 9 months than the previous 31 years combined. Strangers come up to me to congratulate me and strike up conversations about motherhood. They stare at my bump with such glee that I feel like they can actually see my baby in there waving back at them. I also think it doesn't hurt that there is something innately appealing about a pregnant woman -- especially one who is 9 months pregnant -- waddling down the street. It must be like seeing a hippo in the wild. 
2. People encourage me to have two servings of cake. Let me preface this by pointing out that I realize that pregnancy is not an excuse to binge eat. And, for the most part, I think I've done a pretty good job of providing my baby with all the necessary nutrition to ensure she is as healthy as can be. However, I've found that all judging stops when a pregnant woman is indulging in something delicious. Just last night we stopped for ice cream at J.P. Licks and as I was frantically trying to combat the slow melting of my huge ice cream cone, a woman in line asked me what flavor the baby had demanded. The baby! Those babies are demanding little creatures. Always needing huge ice cream cones and two slices of cake. It will be a sad day when I can't blame my ice cream consumption on the baby. 
3. Very little is expected of me. I know a lot of women have a tough time coming to grips with the limitations of pregnancy. No heavy lifting, no horseback riding, no full contact sports, no hang gliding. I am not one of these women. It is a huge relief when someone offers me their seat, because, man, standing is tough when you are pregnant. And when my husband stopped asking me if I'd like to take Oscar out for his last pee of the night it was a momentous and glorious occasion. Going down two flights of stairs is tough when you are pregnant. Heck, just hoisting my massive body off the couch is tough when you are pregnant. So I'm totally on board with these lowered expectations of me. I love that when people see me slowly lumbering down the street on one of our family walks they are thinking, "Wow, good for that huge pregnant lady!" instead of, "Speed it up, fatty!"
4. Our baby will never be so safe again. Everything changed for me when I felt our baby move. And even though she spends most of her time now jabbing me in the ribs with one tiny body part or another, there is something so wonderful about knowing she is completely safe and secure in my gigantic belly. I don't have to worry about her being hungry, or wet, or lonely. I don't have to worry about where she is or what she's doing. For the last time, she is as close to me as she ever will be and there is something really sad about letting her into this big world knowing that she'll never be so well protected again. Just thinking about dropping her off at daycare is giving me hives. 

Six Ways Baby Training Has Transformed Me

All you high school heroes remember the agony of two-a-day workouts. Whether you played football, soccer, basketball, volleyball, or field hockey (lately, I love women's sports), you gutted out two tough sessions in the same day for several weeks. You ran. You lifted. You scrimmaged. You sweat. Basically, you pushed yourself beyond your limits.

I'm adopted that same mentality for baby training.

Baby training, especially during the past two months, has really started to transform me in significant ways. Yes, I'm stockpiling workouts (63 of the last 64 days, according to my Lift app on my iPhone) because I know I won't be able to exercise as much, but the training is about much more than physical activity. I've selected six scenarios, some slightly exagerrated for effect, to show how I've started to change. Using Old Mike and New Mike as the format will help make the comparisons easier. Here goes:

Scenario 1: I wake up after a bad night of restless sleep.

Old Mike: "This is going to to be the worst day of my life. (Sometimes Old Mike was dramatic.) I'm going to be inefficient at work and tired all day. I hate everything."

New Mike: "Yes! An opportunity to show that I can get things done with very little sleep! I'm going to have to get used to this. I'm going for a run!"

Scenario 2: A baby is crying in the apartment next door.

Old Mike: "Hey, good luck with that." (Slams window.)

New Mike: "Bridget, come listen! Do you think the baby is tired or hungry? That sounds like a tired cry to me. Can you believe we have only five weeks to go?"

Scenario 3: A baby is crying in a restaurant.

Old Mike: "Ugh. Seriously? They thought it was a good idea to come to this restaurant right now? Is Burger King closed? Awful."

New Mike: "Isn't that baby cute, hun? How old do you think she is? I wonder if our baby will like pasta. You know, I just read this interesting article about a baby's diet ..."

Scenario 4: We go to visit a friend's baby.

Old Mike: "I guess I'll hold him. I mean, will I break it? I mean him. I'm not really good at babysitting. What if he poops or something? Do I just give him back to you really quickly?"

New Mike: "Let's see if I can get him to stop crying. I really feel like I'm getting the hang of ... what do you mean other people want to hold him?"

Scenario 5: Oscar (our dog) stares at the stove with a tilted head.

Old Mike: "Get out of the way, Oscar."

New Mike: "Oscar, this is called a stove. S-t-o-v-e. Stove. A stove is a hot thing that cooks our food. Never, ever touch it because it's really, really hot. Ouch."

Scenario 6: A quarter mile from home, Bridget says, "I might be a little cold without a sweater."

Old Mike: "You might be? Do you know when you'll know for sure? Why didn't you think about this five minutes ago? Fine. I'll be right back.

New Mike: "Sure thing, sweetie. Do you need anything else? Are you sure you don't want a little snack? Watch how fast I can run."

Will New Mike stick around? I sure hope so. (I think everyone else does, too.)



Our Baby's Name ...

A couple years ago, I met my friend, Rebecca, in Faneuil Hall for a cocktail after work. Instead of a white wine, however, she was drinking water and had big news: She and her husband, Chris, were having a baby! Like anyone would, I extended my congratulations and gave her a big hug. Then, like anyone, I asked about the baby's name.

"Oh, we're not talking about that," she said, in a uncharacteristically sharp tone.

Hmmm, I thought. That's odd. Rebecca is usually so kind and sweet. When my wife is pregnant with a baby, I'm going to tell everyone the name and get all sorts of opinions and feedback. 

As it turns out, as usual, Rebecca was much wiser than me.

When we started our baby journey back in December, Bridget and I jumped into the name conversation with both feet. Why wouldn't we? All of a sudden, you have this enormous privilege and responsibility to name another human being. You could pick something safe, like Michael, John, or Jennifer. Or something bizarre, like Apple, Suri, or North. (Honestly, is there anything worse than the Kardashians? Just go away.)

Before we knew if we were having a she or a he, we developed a short list of six male names and six female names. That, in itself, was a challenge. It's amazing how many associations people (including me) have with names. We had about 40 conversations that went like this:

Bridget: "What about Stephanie?"
Mike: "Nah, I dated a Stephanie."
Bridget: "If we can't use the name of girls you've dated, we won't have many choices!"
Mike: "This is fun. How about Ryan?"
Bridget: "No. There was a really annoying kid named Ryan in one of my English classes in college. How about Adele?"
Mike: "No, I'll just always think about that singer ..."

And on it went. Hours of this. But we finally settled on 12 names we both really liked. We then shared this list with our families.

Bad idea.

There were eye rolls. There were quizzical looks. There were snorts. There were quiet, almost inaudible noises. And there were comments:

• "Gray? You mean the color?"
• "You can't name it Natalie! I'm going to name my kid Natalie!"
• "How about Kathleen? That's a nice name." (Both our moms are named Kathleen, so this comment was shared no less than 314 times. In fact, Kathleen Kathleen Briddon was an actual suggestion.)

So when we found out we were having a baby girl in early April, we put the lid on the baby conversation with anyone outside of me, Bridget, and our dog, Oscar. (We trust him to stay quiet on the name we think is perfect and we'll share with everyone on our daughter's day of birth.) Actually, "put the lid" is not quite right. We slammed the lid. 

"Oh, we're not talking about that," we told our family and friends in an uncharacteristically sharp tone. 

That Rebecca. She's always right.